


Trust

by Luka



Series: We're a Team [17]
Category: Rugby RPF, Rugby Union RPF
Genre: Coming Out, Established Relationship, Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-02 11:07:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21160646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luka/pseuds/Luka
Summary: Team selection and outside influences cause tension between Owen and George before the World Cup quarter-final match against Australia.





	Trust

**Author's Note:**

> OK, back to my main series and pairing ... The story takes place before and just after the World Cup quarter-final match against Australia.
> 
> As usual, here's a reminder than this is fiction - my over-fertile imagination should tell you that! And here's a warning for lots of swearing. And angst. A lot of angst!

You had to know George well to spot the fleeting look of devastation on his face when Eddie announced the side to face Australia. Almost immediately he was back to his dedicated team man persona. But Owen had seen it, and he knew Ben had as well.

Outside the room, oblivious to whoever saw them, Owen enveloped George in a hug. “Georgie … You know why Eddie’s done it … Those fucking mutant Aussies …”

“I think I’m a realist. In the past I knew why Eddie had dropped me. But now … I genuinely don’t know what else I can do. I’m in the shape of my life and I thought I’d done all I could on the pitch. But in the end I’m not 6ft 3” and 15 stone. And if that’s what he prizes above everything else, then fuck him …” George was radiating ‘don’t touch me!’ and pulled out of Owen’s embrace.

“He hasn’t dropped you. You know you’re an absolutely key part of the matchday 23.”

“Yeah. Whatever.” George walked off without looking back.

***

It was only when the phone rang that Owen realised he’d picked up George’s mobile instead of his own at the end of the team meeting. He glanced at the screen - Danny Cipriani’s name flashed up. Owen hesitated, then answered the call. 

“Hey Fordy!”

“It’s Faz,” said Owen flatly.

“Faz. How you doing?”

“Fine, thanks.”

“Cool. I was hoping to speak to Fordy.”

“He’s not around.”

“And you’re his new PA? Or gatekeeper …” And that was a statement, not a question.

Owen stayed silent, knowing he’d probably say something he’d regret otherwise.

There was a light laugh on the other end of the phone. “You don’t think I’m a suitable friend for George, do you? And you assume I just want to shag him. You can’t see beyond the fact you can’t stand me or accept that I genuinely like George and want to be mates with him.”

Owen could feel his temper rising, and he clenched his fists so hard his knuckles were white.

Cipriani’s voice was quiet but relentless. “You know the loathing’s mutual, don’t you? You’re a hyped-up control freak with a big mouth who’d do anything to cling onto the place in the team you don’t deserve. Daddy’s pulled a lot of England and Lions strings for you, hasn’t he? George has played you off the pitch this tournament and the past few years. He’s 20 times brighter than you and a far better captain. You’d throw the bloke you love under a bus to get that 10 shirt back even if the team suffers. Hey, we’re all professional athletes, and being dropped or demoted to the bench comes with the territory. But I wonder how much you lobbied Uncle Eddie behind the scenes … I’d wish you good luck for Saturday, but I wouldn’t mean it. See you around, Faz.” And the line went dead. 

Owen narrowly resisted the temptation to hurl the phone at the wall. He stared at it for a minute or so, then pulled up the ‘recent calls’ screen. He deleted all trace of Cipriani’s call.

***

The bedroom door swung open and Ben barged out, nearly knocking Owen flying. He looked at Owen and there was no trace of his usual good humour. “Give him some space, Faz.”

George was sitting on his bed, knees drawn up to his chest, staring straight ahead. His roommate Joe Launchbury, the big brother everyone wished they had, was perched next to him, his arm around George’s shoulders. He looked up, caught Owen’s eye and shook his head almost imperceptibly. Owen took the hint and walked towards his own room. He realised it must feel like the end of the world for George, particularly after what had happened in 2015. The fact he’d let his guard down and allowed Joe and Ben to see how devastated he was told its own story.

Owen unlocked his bedroom door and threw himself down on the bed. He’d have to give George his phone back later. All he could hear in his head, though, was Cipriani’s voice: “You’d throw the bloke you love under a bus to get that 10 shirt back …”

***

Next day at training it was as if nothing untoward had happened. George was back to his in-control, hard-eyed persona.

“Don’t worry, I’ve apologised to Joe and Lenny for the drama queening yesterday.”

“What d’you mean?” Owen did his best to sound confused.

“You know. You were there.”

“I didn’t think you saw me.”

“I didn’t.”

And that made perfect sense to them both, given their ability to know instinctively where the other was.

“Look, our kid, it’s fine to be upset …”

“Self-indulgence,” said George briskly. “Me dad’d give me grief if he knew. Right, ten more kicks each and then a break?”

***

Owen was in his room checking his email just before dinner when someone knocked hard on the door.

“Yeah?”

George appeared, his face set in hard lines. “Did you answer my phone yesterday when Cips rang?” he asked without preamble.

Owen hesitated, then nodded. 

“I’ve just finished chatting to him now. Interestingly, there’s no trace of yesterday’s call on my phone, though …”

“I deleted it,” said Owen, his voice low and rough. “I’m sorry …”

“Why?” George was staring at him unwaveringly, his blue eyes cold.

“He made me angry.”

“So?”

Owen shrugged and looked away. 

“The fact you even thought it was OK to do that hurts the most.” George sounded tired and defeated.

“I’m sorry …”

“So you’ve said. Why are you doing this, Owen? It’s not like you at all. Are you trying to engineer a row so that I’ll walk away from you and then you can blame Cips for coming between us?”

“No!” Owen’s shout shocked them both. “No, of course I’m not!”

“Then why? It’s like you’re testing me somehow. Tell me the truth. Please.”

Owen sat down and put his head in his hands. “Because I hate him. Because I’m jealous. There, I’ve said it, and yeah, I know how fucking pathetic it sounds.”

“I don’t understand. I mean, I know you don’t like him. But why would you be jealous? I keep telling you that you have absolutely nothing to be jealous of. I have you, and you’re all I want.”

“The way he looks at you … And the way he smiles at you.”

The confusion on George’s face was clear. “But you haven’t seen him with me … You don’t know …”

“I do know … That coach journey to Cornwall, he was cuddling you all the time you were asleep. He couldn’t take his eyes off you. Everyone saw it …”

“And you know how fucking much they gossip, for god’s sake.”

“I know, but … It was people who wouldn’t usually gossip.”

“There can’t be many of those around …” George managed a half-smile, but Owen wasn’t convinced by it.

“Georgie, he fancies you. Everyone can see it. And it’s not surprising. You’re bloody gorgeous and you’re in the best shape you’ve ever been.”

“Owen stop it, please! It’s your choice not to like the guy, but please don’t try to control who I’m friends with. You have Jinx and all the Sarries lads around you and always have done. OK, so I’ve got Ben and Jonny, and they’re the best mates anyone could ever want. But it’s a novelty for me to feel like I’m making friends with someone new. Stop trying to sabotage it.”

“I’m not trying to control you, honest.”

“OK, I believe you, but it feels like you’ve been doing that. And I can’t believe you deleted the call details.”

“I know, and I’m sorry.”

“Yeah … Look, I can’t deal with all of this at the moment. I’ll see you in the morning …” George walked out of the room.

***

Owen put on a fairly good act during dinner, although he knew Jamie wasn’t fooled. George was on the far side of the room on a table with Jonny, Ben, Manu and the kamikaze kids. No conversation would be needed with Sam, Tom and Jonny dominating proceedings …

As soon as decently possible, Owen slipped upstairs again and Skyped his mam. He let her fill him in on Gabe’s latest escapades. Apparently his little brother was getting good at shirt swaps before England and Ireland matches, and was bursting with pride at what his big brother and dad were doing in Japan.

“Have you spoken to your dad?”

“I’ve texted him a few times.” He and his dad had a tacit agreement not to phone each other during the tournament. “Mam, I think I’ve driven George away.”

“Tell me what’s happened, love,” she said quietly, seemingly unfazed by his drastic change of direction.

He told her haltingly, aware that he must sound like some fucked-up teenager and also aware of how lame his behaviour and concerns sounded when they were said aloud.

His mam was silent for a minute or so, then said: “The two of you have lived in a weird sort of bubble for years. Even when you were at school, rugby dominated everything. Neither of you had a conventional childhood from that point of view and you both spent so much time together.”

“Are you saying we should have seen other people?” 

“No, I’m not. But there are stresses on your relationship that other people don’t have. George needs to be able to trust you again. Do you trust him?”

“Totally!”

“Then you have to prove that to him and keep proving it, love.”

***

Owen was ecstatic. They’d fucking done it! And he made sure the lads knew just what they’d achieved as they formed the usual circle on the pitch. A fucking World Cup semi-final! 

For once he knew he was smiling during the TV interview. Once it finished, he looked up to see his face still on the big screens. And six or seven Aussie players were kneeling and praying, looking up at the screens they did so. He couldn’t see who they all were, but almost all seemed to be of Pacific Islands background – clearly mates with fucking Folau.

Jamie and Elliot intercepted him as Owen barged towards the group.

“No, leave it, mate …” Jamie placed himself in between Owen and the Australians. 

“You’re a pair of disgusting freaks and you’ll both go to hell for what you do.”

“Seeing as neither of us believe in hell, that’s not gonna happen. So fuck off and take your prejudices with you.” George’s voice was loud and unmistakable.

Joe Marler and Jonny were standing protectively on either side of George. Jonny had his arm tight around George’s waist and Joe’s huge hand was clamped on George’s arm.

“You’ll both burn in hell …”

“Stop this prejudice now! I’m disgusted that you think god would judge two people who love each other in that way. The god I believe in wouldn’t.” Everyone turned to look at a clearly angry David Pocock, the Aussie back row star and one of the good guys. Owen knew he’d vowed not to marry his girlfriend until same-sex marriage was legal in Australia.

And oh fuck, Eddie Jones and Michael Cheika were approaching fast. And as England teammates steered Owen and George towards the changing rooms, Owen’s final glimpse of the beleaguered Aussie coach was of him remonstrating with the religious fuckwits.

***

Owen truly didn’t want to be in the press conference. And he hoped no one from the media had clocked what had happened after the final whistle. Eddie was adamant that he was reporting it to World Rugby, so it would all come out soon enough.

And sod’s fucking law it all kicked off with questions about George - and sod’s fucking law that Eddie was in expansive mood and playing to the gallery.

"I didn't drop him, mate. I changed his role, and he was brilliant. Maybe you guys have got to start reporting differently and stop reporting like you did 30 years ago. Come and join us in modern rugby. Rugby has changed. It’s a 23-man game. What’s your email address and I'll send you a personal email.”

Owen managed a thin smile. At least the media lot had their headlines for the next day … But the whole fucking saga would start up again with the semi-final circus.


End file.
